Journal Poem under a Skylight

i don't think the soul lives in our eyes,
i think it lives in our tears.
which is why, maybe
last time we said goodbye
you in Gump's old chair
thin in a way that doesn't match up with
"oh, she's always been a hotty to me" (he said it,
long before you stopped loving him for the same disease that's taking you)
i saw them fall down your face
and i think it was the most authentic version of you
i've seen
since you became an artist
took my hand to the studio, put a paintbrush in it,
said,
"go."

i cried in the bathroom because i couldn't cry in front of you.
i cried in the red bathroom,
the small one, with no wall space,
where every surface is coated in pictures.
the one with the note i made you when i was six.
(pink, a lobster, a haircut, you remember).
the one with the mystery men mooning each other
(i never did learn who was who, or why,
but i appreciated your tasteful stars, just the same)
the one from africa
where you posed with the Masai
(your white hair such a contrast to the desert around you)
and the stupidly useless toothpaste bottle
sat to the right of the sink, forever unused.

(see? i know your house better than mine.
not true-- you are my house, i live in you.)

i think there's something about space and energy
that ought to be said
something about tears
and tear tracks
and souls
and stains

but honestly,
i just love you. couldn't care less about poetry
if you're not there to read it.

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Latest Comments

Hi there, I've been on a hiatus, but here's my judge's comment from a long long time ago:

"Honesty can often kill or make a poem. We do not want to read something that's so sculpted till the extent of losing feeling, yet there are so many journal entries throughout the site it's hard to keep focus if it's not unique. However, I think Narph struck a nice balance between honesty and uniqueness with this poem.

The opening pulled the reader straight in with their sense of melancholy. This quickly turned more personal and bittersweet as Narph throws in an inside-joke-kinda quote. I love the switch in perspective, like the reader's inside of the persona's head and watching a movie of memories. The overal mood seems very nostalgic and this is confirmed when details about the house resurface.

Vulnerable moments of crying alone really pull the reader closer. The poem reads very easily, probably as intended: a journal entry. Yet the crisp details keep the reader interested, almost on the verge of prose-poetry.

The ending lines, without doubt, are very strong and pull back the emotional, less prosy aspect of the poem. These are the kind of lines that make a poem memorable. Well done."

This piece is somewhere between prose and a honest journal entry, the author walks us through what I assume is true personal events and reflect on it in a poetic way. Its laden with verses that keeps echoing throughout my mind such as 'took my hand to the studio, put a paintbrush in it,/said,/go" and "but honestly,/I just love you. couldn't care less about poetry/if you're not there to read it.". The central concept of loss is apparent and cuts deep. Well-written piece.

"i think there's something about space and energy
that ought to be said
something about tears
and tear tracks
and souls
and stains

but honestly,
i just love you. couldn't care less about poetry
if you're not there to read it."

Oh boy, Narph, you made me cry. Those last 3 lines hit home so hard. I recognize your heartbreaking grief. You can try to say everything you feel about someone and about the fear of losing them, or maybe the pain of having lost them, but no number of words can better express all the heavy, combative feelings than these 4: "I just love you." Also, the sentiment that "it," whatever it may be, doesn't matter if they're not here... Yes.

This poem cuts deep. Anyone who has lost can find meaning in your words. I'm so sorry you're having to say goodbye to such a huge presence in your life... your grandma sounds magnificent, and altogether human. Like a very good human that I wish I could meet.